


On the Pleasure in Pathless Woods

by invisibledaemon



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, F/M, Team Dynamics, Witches and Magic, avengers as outlaws, in which the gang lives in the woods
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-03
Updated: 2015-11-10
Packaged: 2018-04-29 16:08:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5133902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/invisibledaemon/pseuds/invisibledaemon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>“You are still afraid of them?”</em>
</p><p> <em>“Yes. You do not know how strong they are. And no one has ever escaped before.”</em></p><p> <em>“But you did,” Clint says softly, almost admiringly.</em></p><p><em>“I am strong, too."</em><br/> </p><p>Natasha is a witch afraid of her old coven, and Clint is an outlaw who wants to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Clint honestly does not go around looking for strays, contrary to what the evidence might show. He is Clint Barton, of Kingdom Protegat, an archer in the King’s Army - he’s got places to be, people to shoot. He doesn’t have time to go around gathering loners. But they are drawn to him anyway, like he has his own gravitational pull for sad misfits.

It starts with Steve.

Clint has only been in the Army for a short while when he finds Steve in a local pub, drinking his sorrows away. Clint recognizes him, knows that he has just lost a friend to the latest battle.

Steve is a knight, which means he outranks Clint, but Clint has never much cared for that sort of thing so he goes to sit next to him. He’s not about to let a brother in arms drink alone.

Steve sort of attaches himself after that. And hell, Clint can let go of his lone wolf thing for just one person. So they become friends.

 

Then there is Thor, also a knight, who saves Clint from an enemy arrow. It turns out Thor had been exiled from a faraway kingdom because of his brother and that seals it for Clint right there. He understands brother issues.

 

The three of them rebel from the Army after they discover that the villages they are conquering aren’t so much “enemy combatants” as they are innocent bystanders who just happen to live in the enemy kingdom. They free some prisoners as they leave, among them Tony Stark, a nobleman who had refused to collect unfair taxes. As Clint is unlocking his prison cell, Tony informs him that he was only days away from breaking out on his own and that he doesn’t need help from a rogue marksman and his ragtag band of rebels. 

Clint lets him in the group anyway.

 

Bruce stumbles upon the four of them in the woods, where they – like many other outlaws – have taken to hiding. Tony had been injured in a recent scuffle with a wolf and Bruce patches him up in exchange for some food. He says he is on the run because he “lost his temper.” But he is the mellowest man Clint has ever met so he figures the more the merrier, right?

 

He meets Natasha at the scene of a hanging. Her hanging, to be exact.

It is a warm midafternoon and he is on the outskirts of a small village, close to the edge of the woods he has been calling home this last year. There are scattered cottages but no people around, probably because they are all gathered in the center of the village, where he can hear a cacophony of voices.

Following the sounds of the crowd (because what is he supposed to do when he hears the angry sounds of a mob? _Not_ go running towards it to investigate?), he soon comes upon the hanging. There is a priest standing on the platform, hooking the noose around a young woman’s neck as the crowd around them chants “Witch! Witch!” Clint is a ways back, but the woman’s shock red hair stands out easily, and he can see that her hands are bound behind her back.

Clint feels his blood boil. The persecution of magical beings is kind of a sore spot with him.

The crowd has not spotted him yet, consumed as they are by their blinding hatred, so he pulls the longbow off his back and swiftly nocks an arrow, shooting and severing the rope at her neck.

The woman, the crowd, and the priest all turn towards the source of the arrow, and Clint feels frozen for a moment because he hasn’t actually thought past this part. But he puffs out his chest and does that purposeful walk that always gets people to respect Steve, and comes closer to the staring crowd. Some of them are murmuring, some he can tell are ready to fight. The woman’s face is blank, but her eyes are fixed steadily on him. The priest stands still behind her.

“Unhand this woman immediately by order of the king!” Clint yells, doing is his best impression of Steve’s commanding knight voice.

More murmurs from the crowd, less angry now and more curious.

“Why does the king want to save a witch?” The priest asks, eyes narrowed.

“She is not a witch,” Clint says. “But it is important that the king speak to her. I have been sent here to escort her to him.”

“How do we know you was really sent by the king?” A man in the crowd asks, echoed by several others.

 _Hell if I know,_ Clint thinks, but reaches into his bag to pull out his old badge from the Army, which he had saved for situations exactly like this.

“Marksman,” Clint says, for the benefit of the villagers who cannot read. Then he notices the woman on the platform is standing sideways, holding her bound arms out away from her back. Clint slips his badge away. “If that is not enough proof, then perhaps this will suffice.”

He nocks another arrow before most of the crowd realizes what is going on and quickly takes aim at the rope that binds the woman’s wrists. It is a tricky shot, but he was the greatest marksman in the Army; they called him Hawkeye for a reason. 

The woman is free and the crowd is sufficiently awed to stand aside and let her come to him. Clint’s heart is racing because he cannot believe he actually pulled this off.

Full of sudden confidence, Clint says, “Who accused this woman?”

“I did,” a man towards the edge of the crowd says. He does not appeared as awed as everyone else. He is a slimy looking man, dressed just a little bit better than the rest of the crowd and Clint instantly gets a bad feeling about him.

“Well, the king will be hearing of this as soon as we return to the castle,” Clint says, grabbing the woman’s sleeve and slowly backing away.

“The castle?” The slimy man asks. “You’re bringing her to the castle? Where the king is?”

“Yes,” Clint says, thinking this man is a great deal stupider than he looks.

Slimy man suddenly smirks and something about that makes Clint’s heart sink. Beside him, the woman is now tugging on _his_ sleeve, urging him to move away.

“The king is not in his castle. He is in Longwell leading the campaign this last month.” The man smiles triumphantly. “If he had sent you, would you not know that?”

Clint can see that the crowd is catching on and he has no time to think of another lie. “Well, let me just say one thing, sir – run!” He yells this part to the woman beside him who does not need to be told twice. They take off at a sprint for the woods, the (now once again angry) crowd following close behind them.

“Imposter!” A voice from the crowd shouts, and several others repeat the yell.

“Witch!” Comes another voice, another echo.

Clint and the woman just keep running, finally making it to the tree line. 

The mob thins as they enter the forest, already losing track of them as they dart around trees, but there are still a fair few. Fortunately, Clint knows the forest better than most. As they enter a clearing, he grabs the woman’s arm and quickly darts off to the side behind some trees.

The mob comes behind them, and Clint lifts his hand to cause a glimmer of light on the other side of the clearing.

“That way!” A man in the crowd shouts, and they all go tearing away.

Clint turns back to the woman, who is giving him a curious look. “We have to go,” he says quietly, leading her further into the forest.

She says nothing for a few minutes, following his lead through the thick woods while they both catch their breath from the chase.

When she does speak, her voice is deep and pleasant and utterly suits her. “Who are you and why did you save me?”

“My name is Clint.” He looks at her expectantly, not saying more until she tells him her name is Natasha. “And I saved you because I was there.”

“You were just there?” Her brow raises skeptically. “With your bow and arrow, at the edge of a hanging?” He nods. “Not a lot of people would rescue a witch.”

“It’s what we do.”

“We?”

“My friends and I. We help out when we can.”

She stops in her tracks.

“What?” He asks. “Come on, we should move quickly in case anyone in that village has half a brain and finds our path.”

“None of them do,” Natasha says bitterly. “But where are we going?”

Clint shrugs. “Well, I am not really certain. Where is your coven? I can take you to them.”

Natasha’s eyes harden. “I have no coven.”

He tries not to show his surprise. “I thought every witch had a coven.”

“ _Had,”_ she says. “They were cruel. I escaped.”

Sensing that she will say no more on the matter, Clint sighs and says, “Well, you should probably still stay in the woods. It is the safest place for outlaws to hide.”

“Is that why you are in here?”

“Yes.” He does not say anything more. Natasha glances around at the trees, eyes narrowed distrustfully.

“Then I suppose I will have to stay in the forest,” she says, sounding reluctant. Clint is surprised, and it must show because she says, “A witch wary of the forest, I know.” Her smile betrays no amusement. “I have not spent time in it in years. And never in this area.”

“Then you shall stay with us.” Clint would normally trust a witch to be safe on her own in the forest, but if she had never spent time in it? These woods are no place for those who do not know them well.

She blinks. “I shall what?”

“Like I said, my friends and I try to help when we can. I would like to help you, take you through the forest at least far enough away from your village that it might be safe for you to resurface.”

She crosses her arms and levels a glare at him. “I can take care of myself.”

“Then why were you tied up about to be hanged?”

Natasha huffs. “I appreciate the knight in shining armor act you’ve got going on. But I do not need your help.”

“I’m not a knight,” Clint says. “I’m an archer. I’ve got a couple friends who are knights though.”

Her eyes narrow, clearly not amused, and Clint sighs. “Look,” he says earnestly. “The woods are full of outlaws. A lot of us are nice but there are some who are even more dangerous than the wolves. And if you do not know which areas to avoid or where it may be safe to sleep, especially if you are on your own, you will not survive a week.”

She studies him, and Clint tries not to be antsy, but he really does wish to get a move on. He feels no qualms about bringing Natasha back to camp. He has an instinctual trust in her, though judging by the skepticism he can see in her face, she does not feel the same for him. But he will build up to that.

“Alright,” she says and they finally move on.

He tries to start up a conversation with her several times, but she gives monosyllabic answers and he eventually gives up. She is clearly still wary of him. He cannot imagine her attitude is going to improve on being introduced to four more strangers, so he takes a deep breath when they reach the camp and clears his throat.

His friends look up from their various activities and silently stare at the companion he has gained since he last saw them a couple hours ago.

“Guys,” Clint begins. “This is Natasha. I rescued her from being hanged. Natasha, this is Tony, Steve, Bruce, and Thor.”

“What were you being hanged for?” Tony asks instantly.

Clint glances hesitantly at Natasha, but she says unflinchingly, “I am a witch.”

“A witch?” Steve’s eyes widen a little in apprehension.

“A good witch,” Clint says hastily. “Right?”

Natasha rolls her eyes. “Yes. I’m not going to curse you.” She looks at Tony, who has his hands on his hips and is staring at her hard. “Probably.”

“She is going to be joining us for a while, until we can get far enough away from her village that she’ll be safe,” Clint says.  

Natasha shifts uncomfortably next to him. “I will not harm you,” she promises. “And I have gold in my cottage back at the village if you desire payment.”

“No,” Clint says firmly. “You do not owe us anything.”

“If she’s offering gold –“ Tony starts but Bruce nudges him with his elbow.

“Clint is right,” Bruce says. “We help people, remember?”

“We will most certainly assist you in your passage, fair maiden,” Thor declares. Clint half expects Natasha to hex him the moment the word ‘maiden’ leaves Thor’s mouth, but she just arches a brow.

“Are you really a witch?” Tony asks, stepping closer. “Prove it.”

Natasha turns such a fierce glare on him that he actually takes a step back, smile dropping.

“I do not have to prove anything to you,” she snaps, then stalks over to the fire to warm her hands, leaving the men standing behind her.

“A fearsome woman,” Thor mutters.

Clint says nothing but silently agrees. Natasha sends him a look over the fire that is not quite a smile but sends a strange warmth through him nonetheless.

“You know, you were just supposed to bring back bread,” Tony tells him. 

 _Damn._ He knew he’d forgotten something.

* * *

 

As far as Natasha knows, she is the only witch who is afraid of the woods. Witches and nature are supposed to go hand in hand, so much so that a lot of covens live full-time in the forest. Though her old coven did not, all the other witches besides her were at least comfortable with nature. They certainly would not feel the same qualms Natasha does about living in it. But Clint was right; she could not very well walk through the local villages without being seen and re-captured. Or even worse: being spotted by someone from her old coven.

He was also right about her not being able to live in the forest on her own. While it is only her first night here, and perhaps she will eventually get used to it, she feels quite disoriented. From where they are right now, Natasha would have no idea how to get back to her village or to a water source. And, while she is perfectly capable of protecting herself, she is at least less likely to be attacked when there are five other people with her.

Five people she doesn’t know at all, she thinks as she watches them set up for dinner. It is her specialty to observe people, though. Evaluate them. Discover who they are, what makes them tick. What makes them weak.

Steve is spinning a slab of what appears to be deer meat over the fire, and Clint and Tony are standing behind him throwing acorns at his back while he stoically ignores them. Eventually they get tired of this and come right up to him, asking him how his meat is doing.

“Is it getting hotter?”

“It’s really thick.”

“Did you rub it before?”

Steve scowls, face getting redder and redder. “You are both disgusting.”

“Cut it out,” Bruce says firmly. “No bothering the man in charge of dinner, remember?”

“We’re helping,” Tony says innocently.

“You may come help me sort these berries,” Thor says from his log bench. “If you want to be of use.”

Clint and Tony grumble but go help. Natasha files Clint and Tony away as the jokers and Bruce as the peacemaker. Steve and Thor are somewhere in between.

The camp itself is sparse, at least from the outside. There are two large tents, where Natasha assumes most of the supplies are. Outside there are three large logs around the fire pit. Otherwise there are only some scattered weapons lying about and a few cooking supplies. It is a large clearing, but the camp only takes up half the area.

Natasha is sitting on a tree stump towards the edge, as far away from the group as she can be. As she observes the men make dinner, a rabbit peeks around a tree near her. Despite herself, Natasha reaches out a hand towards it and the animal dives back into the trees.

She angrily retracts her hands and represses tears, feeling stupid for forgetting that she cannot interact with animals and nature as other witches do. Her old coven had made sure of that, for all of them, their cruelty to nature only matched by their cruelty to people.

This is why she has to keep her distance from the men she is staying with. No one can be trusted, including herself. Her plan is just to stay out of their way as much as possible and limit interactions. Then as soon as it is feasibly safe for her to leave the woods, she will be on her own again. Exactly how she likes it.

“Dinner!” Clint calls to her and she walks over, intending to just take her plate and head back to her stump. But Clint insists that she sit down on the log next to him. 

“We eat dinner together,” Thor informs her with a grin. “Team bonding, you know.”

“Because we just don’t spend enough time together,” Tony says with an eye roll. “All we do by ourselves is piss.”

“Watch your tongue in front of a lady,” Steve hisses. Natasha is about to protest that whatever they say, she is sure she’s said worse. But that would mean she is including herself in their cozy group banter. She feels awkward enough just sitting there, much less contributing to the conversation.

Unfortunately, they do not really give her much of a choice in that matter. Clint, interrupting whatever Tony is about to snap at Steve, asks her, “Where are you from?”

She narrows her eyes at him. “Why?”

“Because we want to get to know you,” Clint says like it is the most obvious thing in the world. Natasha glances at the others, and they are all looking at her expectantly.

“South Strongfall.” Strongfall is really the village next to the Red Coven compound, but close enough.

“That’s right on the border with Caput,” Bruce says, referring to the neighboring kingdom. “Have you ever been there?”

Natasha says nothing, trying not to shift uncomfortably. Why does he want to know where she’s been? Do they suspect something? But they cannot possibly know that Red Coven witches are spies. Only other witches could have heard about that.

“Not likely,” Clint says, after she does not respond. “We’ve had that border on lockdown for years.”

Natasha almost laughs. It is absurdly easy to get past the security that lines the border between Protegat and Caput. But they do not need to know that.

After a couple more, mostly failed, attempts at getting to know her, the others move on to their own conversation, though Clint still makes an effort to include her. As nice as he is, as they all seem to be, Natasha has learned by now not to let her guard down.

Still, she observes them. Not because she wants get to know them, but because it is important to learn about the people one lives with. What she most wants to learn is what kind of magic she is sensing. The source of some of it is Bruce, though it is not near as much as she can feel from Clint. They are not witches. They are something else.

She does not bring it up, though, because she is not curious about them. Especially not the archer. If she looks at him a little more than the others, well, it is only natural. He _did_ save her life. She owes him. 

* * *

 

Life in the forest is very mobile, which suits Clint just fine. He never was very good at sitting still, and since staying in one place for too long is a bad idea for those trying not to be found, he never has to worry about sitting still for long.

Today is one of their moving days. They usually only stay in one place for a week at most, and since Natasha has been here they have been moving even more frequently. She is very eager to get to a safe place, and Clint had promised her they would get her out of harm’s way.

“I think she’s warming up to us,” he tells Tony, who is walking next to him. Tony scoffs skeptically, looking pointedly at Natasha, who is walking silently as far in front of them as she can get, while still staying behind Thor, who is leading the way. She is moving much faster than last time, ever since Tony had given her a shirt and a pair of his pants (he being closest to her size). It is a much more practical outfit for running around the forest than her peasant dress. 

“I think you’re being a tad optimistic there, pal,” Tony says.

Natasha glances back at them for a moment before resolutely turning her head forward again, focusing ahead of her. 

“Do witches have super hearing?” Tony asks.

“No,” Clint says. “She’s been looking back all day.”

“Maybe she likes you.” Tony snorts.

Clint forces a laugh, ignoring the odd pang in his chest that joke causes. He does wonder about the looks, though. He supposes she is just curious.

When they find a suitable clearing to settle in, Clint shows Natasha how to put up a tent so she can help with the set-up process. He knows that when he felt lost among strangers, it was always nice to feel useful.

“Tie the rope around like this,” he says, showing her and then handing it over for her to try. Their hands brush and she gives him another curious look, like she is trying to figure something out. Then she ties the rope perfectly.

“Good job,” he murmurs. The set-up now finished, they stand in awkward silence for a moment before he says, “So, what do you think of this clearing?”

She arches a brow. “It’s a clearing,” she says. “Not a lot to say about it. Lots of trees.”

Despite her un-enthusiastic answer, Clint smiles because that is the most words she has said to him at one time since he brought her here.

“We’re going to find the village,” Thor announces, gesturing to Bruce and Tony. Every time they settle in a new area, a few of them go find and scout the nearest village, seeing if it is large enough for them to do some shopping or if they will end up surviving on game meat and berries for the next few days.

“Try not to miss me too much,” Tony says, and they are off.

Steve finds the nearest sturdy branch and begins doing pull-ups. Clint would normally join him, but instead he follows Natasha to sit on the logs they’ve set up around the fire pit. She glares at him, but much less harshly than she has been, which to Clint means she is definitely warming up to him. She seems lonely, and he is determined to be her friend. 

He cannot think of anything to say, so he takes some berries out of his pocket and offers them to her. She, predictably, refuses. Clint shrugs and shoves the entire handful into his mouth, which at least gets him a response, even if it is a look of mild disgust.

“What? I’m hungry, and it’s going to be at least an hour before the others get back.”

They sit in silence for a while until Steve announces that he’s going to find the nearest pond or river to clean off.

After he leaves, Natasha stands in front of him and, before he can protest or move or even process what is happening, she is lifting her shirt over her head and standing nearly topless before him, save for the stiff undergarment that contains her breasts.

Clint is sure he is gaping like a fish, stunned into a stupor. But when Natasha goes to remove her pants as well, he snaps to attention and stands, holding out his hands to stop her.

“Hey!” His voice is rather higher pitched than usual. “What the hell are you doing?”

She gives him an impatient look. “I owe you for saving me. This is how I pay my debt. Now can we get this over with?”

“I – what?” Clint sputters. “Are you saying you – that you were going to – _what?”_

Natasha’s impatient expression turns to confusion and, perhaps, a little bit of insecurity. “You have been looking at me all week. Trying to get near to me. Is this not what you were after?”

“What kind of man do you think I am?” Clint practically yells, indignant at this slight to his honor. “I do not want to have sex with you because you think you owe me! You owe me nothing. And even if you did, this is not how I would take payment.”

She looks dubious, like she does not quite believe him, but thankfully she slips her shirt back on. They sit in awkward, tense silence until the others return.

 

They only have two tents, because they are hard pressed as it is to carry all of their supplies without them each having one. The tents are large enough to comfortably sleep three each, so they rotate who sleeps where, sometimes based on who had been quarreling earlier but more frequently just on who turns in first.

They also rotate watch – one of them staying awake and on guard outside the tents at all times. 

By unspoken agreement, Clint and Natasha are always in the same tent. Clint had assumed this would be most comfortable to her, since she seems to trust him the most. But apparently she has been harboring doubts as to his motives the entire time, Clint thinks, rankling.

Tonight, they share the tent with Thor, who has second watch. When Bruce comes in to wake Thor for his turn, Clint sighs in relief and spreads out a little more. There is room, but Thor is the biggest of all of them and leaves less space. On the other side of the tent, he hears Natasha rustling, presumably spreading out as well. That, coupled with her breathing, confirms his suspicion that she is also lying awake. 

She must reach the same conclusion about him because a few moments later she whispers, “You are mad at me.”

It is not a question, but he answers anyway. “Yes.”

“I was not… I meant to…” She blows out a frustrated breath, and Clint turns his head to look at her face, trying to make out her expression in the dark. The tent is just thin enough to allow some moonlight to enter, but not enough to clearly discern what emotions she might be showing on her face. “I did not mean to insult you,” she says, finally. “But I don’t like to live in debt.”

“You have to stop thinking that way,” Clint says. “Do you try to return every favor with sex?”

“Of course not,” she snaps. “But it…” A long pause. Clint waits, sensing she needs time to decide whether to tell him. “It is what a lot of men expect. And if it repays a debt...” He sees her shrug in the dim light. 

“Perhaps that is how your old coven worked,” he says, and by the sharp turn of her head he knows that he guessed right; she had been talking about them. “But it is not how I, or any good men, work. So you should get that out of your head straightaway.”

She is silent. Clint softens, anger finally ebbing away because he understands that she was only trying to do what she thought she had to. His chest aches with the thought of how she had been living. He does not know much about her old coven, but this new information, coupled with the way her eyes go dark whenever she mentions them, tells him that they had not treated her right.

“I mean it, Natasha. You are safe here.” He reaches out and gently grasps her hand in his own. She does not return the pressure but she does not pull away, either. “Okay?”

She takes a deep breath and he sees her nod, once. He is not sure she really believes him, but it is progress.

* * *

 

Natasha has still not gotten used to living in the woods, but she is adjusting. And really, her situation is not as bad as it could be. The men she is traveling with are kind, mostly, and so far have not once harassed her like she had been used to from outlaws and other rough men she had previously dealt with.

Her initial plan, when it became clear that she was going to be traveling with these men, had been to keep out of their way as much as possible. She does not need to try and make friends, or get to know them and find out they are not as kind as they appear. She does her best to help with their daily routines of preparing meals and clearing up their camp when it is time to move on again, and none of them ask her for anything more.

Except Clint. He seems determined to be her friend, no matter how little encouragement she gives him. He talks to her at mealtimes, even as the others carry on a separate conversation around them. He seeks her out when she has removed herself from the group, usually on a large rock or tree stump nearby. It is perplexing but not, as she might have thought, annoying.

After some time, she has come to expect him. So one day, when she has been sitting on the edge of the camp for an hour and he has not come, she grows… not concerned, but curious, and casts her eyes around the camp for him.

The clearing they are now set up in is larger than any of the previous ones, giving them more room to spread out. Tony and Bruce are huddled by one of the tents, hammering pieces of metal. They are big on creating things, those two, usually from metal. Tony has an entire suit of armor that he made himself, far more advanced than anything she has ever seen on a knight.

Steve and Thor are a little farther off, sparring. It is a captivating show and she allows herself to watch for a moment, remembering a few days ago when Clint had joined them.  

She shakes her head and moves her gaze along to the far end of the camp. And it is there that she sees Clint, removed from the rest of the group like she is, fletching arrows.

Without thinking, without allowing herself _time_ to think, Natasha gets up from her stump, crosses the camp, and sits next to Clint on his rock. She feels his eyes on her but does not look at him. She tells herself she is only sitting with him out of boredom, because doing nothing is slightly less boring if you are next to someone else. It is certainly not because she misses him, or wants to talk or anything.

Despite telling herself this, she speaks after less than five minutes.

“Why did you save me?”

He sighs, exasperation clear in his voice when he replies, “Like I have told you the last three times, Natasha, it is what we do.”

“If you are trying to hide, why draw that kind of attention to yourselves?”

“It’s not like we go searching for opportunities,” Clint says, still not taking his eyes off of his arrow. “But trouble finds us. We may be outlaws but we are not so immoral that we would ignore a cry for help.”

“I was not crying for help,” Natasha mutters.

Clint smirks. “Of course. And you had them right where you wanted them, right? Despite the fact that binding a witch’s hands binds their powers, I am sure you had a plan for escape.”

She sends him a glare, which he ignores. In truth, even if her hands had not been bound, she is so ill-used to the practice of magic that she is not sure she would have had a plan anyway. She does not know what she would have done if Clint had not been there.

“Do not worry,” Clint continues. “We will get you far away from your village.”

“It’s not them I’m worried about,” Natasha says without thinking.

But Clint does not look surprised. “Your coven?”

“My _old_ coven,” she says fiercely. They do not own her anymore.

“Your old coven,” Clint corrects. “You are still afraid of them?”

Since she has apparently decided to be honest, she says, “Yes. You do not know how strong they are.” _Especially Ivan,_ she thinks with an internal shudder. “And no one has ever escaped before.”

“But you did,” Clint says softly, almost admiringly.

“I am strong, too,” she says. “But they may be able to find me.” Though she had been _sure_ to take anything that could have a trace of her on it before she escaped from the compound, she is afraid Ivan may find a way to track her.

“Strongfall is to the south,” Clint says. “And we are headed north. If we go far enough, we should be able to escape their reach, right?”

“I don’t know,” Natasha admits quietly. “I hope so.”

“If they haven’t found you yet, perhaps they are not looking for you.”

She _had_ faked her own death, but she did not imagine that would fool them forever. But she did not want to think about that any longer. “So, what are you?” She asks. “You are not a witch.”

If Clint is surprised that she can tell he is a magical being, or perturbed by the change of subject, he does not show it. “Elf.”

“Really?” Her voice shows her surprise, and he nods absently. Elves are very rare, much less common than witches, and more powerful. Her eyes automatically go to his ears, looking for the point that usually denotes an elf, but the tips have been cut off, leaving in their place only raised scar tissue. A lot of elves cut off their pointy tips to avoid detection by humans, but they usually do a much neater job. Clint’s look as though they have been hacked away roughly and carelessly. It is barbaric, and it causes a strange tightness in her chest to think about how much it must have hurt.

“Why are you doing this by hand?” She asks with a gesture at his arrows. Elves, unlike witches, have dominion over man-made materials and lifeless matter. Clint should be able to fashion himself arrows with barely a flick of the wrist.

“I like to do it the human way every once in a while,” he says and finally looks at her. “Just to keep up the practice. If you rely too much on magic, you will find yourself defenseless if you are suddenly without it. “

Natasha senses a dark story behind that, but Clint changes the subject and she does not press.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to onecent, stefaniegk, and Karolina94 for your comments on the last chapter!

All of the men she is camping with seem to know the forest as if they’d been born in it, Natasha muses; where to sleep, where water is, what is safe to eat. The witch part of herself she has so long been repressing feels a pang at that observation, because it is _she_ who should know the forest that well. But she ignores it.

Today, Clint, Steve, and Thor have gone into the nearby village (how they can tell they are close to a village, she does not know) for food because none of them feel like hunting. Tony had handed them some gold coins he apparently just keeps stashed in his bags somewhere. Natasha fights the urge to trick him into revealing where he hides it, reminding herself that that part of her life is over now.

She is sitting by the fire when Tony and Bruce come over, holding what looks like a metal arm cuff on a pair of tongs.

“We need to hold this by the fire,” Bruce says apologetically as Tony does so.

She moves to get up, but Tony waves her off. “Watch!” He says excitedly. Natasha looks at the metal, watching as the fire warps it slightly.

“It closes the seams,” Bruce says. “At least, that’s the idea.” He bends his head to watch the fire anxiously.

“It works,” Tony says confidently.

“What about –“

“That was one time!”

Bruce chuckles. 

“What are you making?” Natasha asks despite herself.

“Improving parts of my suit,” Tony says. “Bruce, you can have the old parts when we’re done.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“I’m going to make him his own,” Tony stage whispers to Natasha. “For Christmas.”

“We have no idea when Christmas even _is,”_ Bruce points out.

“Alright, so I’ll have to make a calendar first.”

“He won’t,” Bruce tells her. “He has no patience for anything unless it involves metal or fire.”

“He’ll have to make a metal calendar then,” she says.

Tony and Bruce both laugh, and Natasha feels suddenly agitated. This is entirely too friendly.

“I’m going to… go,” she says, going to find somewhere else to sit, ignoring Tony and Bruce’s questions. She is _not_ making friends. She had tried that once, she thinks bitterly. 

_That_ part of her life is over now, too. 

She is now incredibly bored, though, without Clint there. Not that she considers the archer a friend or anything, but he is more entertaining than the rest of them and always tries to start a conversation with her, even if half the time she is less than responsive. It’s not that she looks forward to days spent sitting and talking to him, or walking by his side as they move through the forest to set up a new camp. She tolerates it, is all.

She also does _not_ perk up when she hears him coming back from the village, his voice mingling with Steve’s and Thor’s. She just, coincidentally, sits up straighter and looks towards the source of the noise.

The three of them come through trees, each carrying a paper bag. They don’t even take the time to unload before Steve says, “We need to go on a mission.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “What now?”

“The nobleman of this village hoards all the grain!” Thor declares angrily. “While the villagers starve!”

“Ah,” Bruce says. “That is a problem.”

A loud, heated discussion about strategy begins, which Natasha listens to while attempting to appear uninterested. She wishes to go, desperate to get out of the forest after so long. But they are still too close. There would almost certainly be relatives or friends of the people from her village in the neighboring ones, and she could not risk that one of them would see her red hair and link her with the red-haired witch who had escaped hanging. Not to mention the fear of her old coven if _they_ linked that event with their own escaped witch.

“So it is decided,” Thor says. “We shall leave before dawn tomorrow.”

The others nod, and then Clint makes eye contact with her and frowns. “Who is going to stay here with Natasha?”

They all turn to look at her. All of them except Clint seem to have forgotten she was there in the heat of their strategy meeting.

“I do not require a babysitter,” Natasha spits.

“The woods are dangerous,” Clint says. “You cannot stay in them alone.”

“I will be fine for a couple of hours,” she insists.

“We always stay in pairs, at least,” Steve says gently, seeming afraid to upset her. Good.

“I bathe on my own,” Natasha says and takes pleasure in watching some of them blush. “And I am a witch. I will be fine. Besides, I was listening. You are all essential to the plan.”

“She has a point,” Bruce says, mainly to Clint and Steve, who are the principal objectors.

“We do all need to go,” Tony adds.

“Natasha is a fierce witch,” Thor says, smiling at her. She thinks that that is not exactly true, as she does not really use her powers, but saying so would probably not be a point in her favor.

“Exactly,” she says, catching Clint’s eye and holding it. She can see sparks shooting off of his fingertips before he shakes his hands to dispel them.

“Fine,” he says through gritted teeth.

“This will only take a few hours,” Bruce says to her, reassuringly. Natasha needs no reassurance, and she hopes her glare adequately conveys this.

“You know what this means?” Steve says to the group, rubbing his hands together. Tony groans. He must know what this means, as he says it at the same time as Steve, only much less enthusiastically – “Team training!"

And that is when Natasha finally finds out what all those bags full of supplies they carry around are for. Tony, Thor, and Steve drag out metal rods, lengths of rope, pieces of wood, weapons, everything. Clint uses his powers to assemble it all into what Steve calls a “training” course, though it is absurdly small compared to what the Red Coven had used for their training.

They seem to enjoy it, though. Whereas Natasha has previously seen them all sparring and training alone or in pairs, here they did their activities together under Steve’s direction.

Well, most of them. Bruce sat it out, choosing to sit next to her on the log and watch.

“Tony doesn’t think this is necessary,” he says. “Since they’re always in good enough shape. But Steve thinks we need to do extra training before a mission. Keep up our strength, build teamwork.”

“Except you?” Natasha asks pointedly.

“I don’t need training to keep up my strength,” he says darkly. Then sighs at her look of confusion. “I’m part ogre. My strength really only comes out when I’m angry, though.”

That certainly explains the small amounts of magic she can feel from him.

“Natasha!” Clint calls from his position on what Thor calls ‘monkey bars.’ “Bruce! Come join!”

“Yeah, or I could not,” Bruce says.

“Come on!” Tony laughs, kicking at Clint from where he hangs across from him, trying to get the other man to fall off. “Tell them, Steve! If we have to, they should too!”

“Natasha is welcome to join,” Steve says, swatting at Tony to get him to move so Thor can get on. “Bruce, you really should. You’re coming on the mission, too.”

Bruce sighs and goes to join, to cheers from the rest of the team.

Natasha stays put, but is tempted. It has been too long since she’d been able to train, resistant as she is to join in on their group activities.

Clint hops down from the metal bars and jogs over to her. “Nat, come on! It’s fun! We’re trying to see who can get across the monkey bars the fastest.” There’s a mischievous glint in his eye when he says, “Though I understand if you’re afraid to lose. We are all big, strong, muscle-y men.” He flexes and winks.

And Natasha _knows_ he is goading her, but dammit if she doesn’t rise to the bait anyway.

Silently, she stalks over to the monkey bars and climbs up, racing across them in seconds. When she drops down, Clint whistles and Thor claps her on the shoulder, jarring her a bit. “I believe you have won, Natasha!” Thor says in his booming voice.

“She’s lighter,” Tony says. “It’s easier for her.”

Natasha rolls her eyes and moves on to a solo activity, the metal rods that had been set up for pull-ups. She does her agility and flexibility exercises while Steve has the others running circles around the clearing.

She is hanging off the bar by one leg when Clint breaks out of the circle and comes to run circles around her instead.

“Hey, Nat,” he says. She thinks he’s smiling cheekily, but it’s a little hard to tell from upside down. “Having fun?”

“I was.”

“Aaw.” Clint chuckles. “Don’t worry, I won’t bother you.”

“I might,” Tony says, joining Clint in jogging around her. “This is much more fun.”

“Guys!” Steve yells in frustration, coming over to them. “You still have 20 more laps.”

“Don’t get your armor in a knot,” Tony says. “We’re still team bonding.”

Clint calls for Thor and Bruce to join in. To Natasha’s surprise, they do, even dragging Steve in so that all five of them are running small circles around her.

“Don’t fall!” Clint yells suddenly, and Natasha does not even grace that with a reply. She is perfectly steady, and to prove it she uncoils her leg and hangs by just the top of her foot.

“She doesn’t appear affected by you, Clint.” Thor laughs, and Clint reaches forward to give him a little shove, which just makes him laugh harder.

“Children,” Steve says, exasperated. But even upside down, Natasha doesn’t miss his smile.

It’s more of a challenge this way, Natasha thinks. It will help her focus, doing her exercises while they try to distract her. It’s not that she is enjoying the teasing. The warm feeling in her chest is just from exertion. That’s all.

 

When they leave on their mission early the next morning, Natasha relishes the time to herself. It is not that she finds their company unbearable – in fact, they have rather grown on her. Tony is funny when he is not being obnoxious, Steve and Thor are good men, and Bruce is kind. Clint is… interesting. Confusing. Goofy and serious, teasing and courteous by turns; she can never get an exact read on him.

She gets a strange kind of feeling in her chest when she thinks about Clint. So she tries not to.

Instead, she focuses her energy on a tree in front of her and lifts her hand, trying to let the magic flow through her. She just wants one leaf to fall … just to see if she still can…

She feels the tree’s pain and drops her hand immediately, crying out in frustration. She had thought after spending so long in the woods, after not using nature for so long, that maybe she could… but no. She is tainted forever. 

She tries not to dwell on it. She tried and she failed and that was that. She can still enjoy the time by herself. The forest may still be wary of her, and she of it, but she thinks that it is almost peaceful in the morning.

That is, until a couple of strange men stumble through the trees, look around in surprise, and then grin maliciously at her. Natasha knows instantly that these are not the friendly kind of outlaws she’s been living with.

One of the men says, "Hey sweetheart," and takes out a knife.

Natasha longs for all the weapons she had at her cottage back in the village. But, as awful as her old coven had been, they had at least taught her combat skills.

She rolls up her sleeves, grateful that she is not wearing a dress, and readies herself for the fight.

* * *

 

“Did you see the way I knocked that guy out?” Tony laughs. “Fell _right_ to the ground.”

“You only had to because your infernal suit makes too much noise and alerted him to your presence,” Steve says, irate.

“I’ll fix that,” Tony says with a wave of his hand, ducking to avoid a branch. “Just a matter of oiling some joints.”

They are walking through the woods back to camp, re-hashing the (very successful) mission. Clint is looking forward to telling Natasha about it when they get back. He knows she had been disappointed at having to stay behind, despite what she said to the contrary. They really could have used a witch too; she could have done glamour charms on them so they could have snuck in rather than fought their way through. Once she is able to go outside the forest –

He stops himself right there. Once she is able to go outside the forest, he’ll never see her again. She will not be sticking with them; she is not wanted kingdom-wide like the rest of them. She will leave him – them. Leave _them._

He forces himself to return to the conversation. After a fight or a mission, Tony and Thor prefer to focus on what went right, Steve and Bruce like to talk about ways to improve. Clint just likes to remember how many people he’d gotten with his arrows.

He is jovial all the way back, until they are just outside the camp. It is not visible yet, but Clint can sense that something is wrong. He cannot say why, but he is instantly concerned. Without a word to the guys, he immediately begins running the rest of the way. 

When he arrives, the campsite is in complete disarray. It looks like a hurricane has swept through, upending everything in sight, including one of the tents, supplies spilling out over the ground.

At the edge of the scene stands Natasha, chest heaving with hard fought breath as she stands over the bodies of two unconscious men, holding a still flickering log from the fire.

Even as Clint stumbles into the camp, one of the men gives a twitch and Natasha swiftly brings her log down to his head, knocking him out and leaving what is sure to be a harsh burn.

“Natasha!” Clint yells. Or tries to. What comes out is more of a strangled whisper as he hurries over to her. “Are you okay?” He asks when he reaches her, frantically checking her for injuries. There is a cut on her temple, a deep red mark on her cheek that could only have come from a fist, blood seeping through the sleeves of her shirt in several places, and some injury that is causing her to hold her left side tenderly.

“I’m fine,” she says softly, dropping the log. But she cannot hide the grimace of pain as she continues to press her hand to her side.

“I am so sorry,” Clint says, gently gripping her shoulders and bending his head so she will look in his eyes. “I am so sorry we left you alone. Never again –“

“I handled it fine,” Natasha snaps, glaring at him.

“Natasha,” Steve says behind them, and Clint turns to see that he and the others are all standing by the bodies. Bruce is bending over them, presumably to check if they are alive. “Did you fight both of these men by hand?” Steve continues, clearly astonished.

“Yes,” she answers simply.

Tony whistles. “That is some nice work.”

“Why did you not just use your magic?” Thor asks. 

A scared look passes over Natasha’s face, so fleeting Clint wonders if he imagined it, but then she says, “I am trying to avoid detection. I did not think using magic would help with that.”

The others accept this, but Clint does not. There was something in her words that did not entirely ring true.

“They are just unconscious,” Bruce says, standing. “Not dead.”

“I do not wish to kill where I don’t have to,” Natasha says quietly. Normally Clint feels the same way, but anger, white hot and uncontrollable, flares within him at the sight of Natasha’s injuries.

What would have happened if she had been less able to defend herself? If she had been even more outnumbered? Before he can even think about it, he has an arrow nocked and leveled at one of the men’s throats.

“Clint!” Steve snaps. “We cannot kill them!”

“Why not?” Clint practically growls.

“There is no need, the danger has passed,” Steve insists.

“Besides,” Bruce says. “If we start leaving a trail of bodies, even the woods will not be able to hide us for long.”

Clint grudgingly lowers his weapon and Steve sighs in relief.

“We should get going,” Thor says. “We can’t still be here when they wake up or we’ll have to fight.”

The others agree and begin packing up, but Clint assigns himself the task of taking care of Natasha. He brings her over to the side of the still upright tent so they can have a bit of privacy, dragging his bag and a canteen of water with him.

“Lift your shirt,” he says softly. He can see Natasha about to protest, so he adds, “I have to tend to your wound, Natasha. If it gets dirty you could die.”

She concedes, lifting her shirt – which is so damaged and blood-soaked she will need to replace it – so that he can see the gash along her ribcage.

He cannot help the hiss that escapes him at the sight, and grabs one of his only other shirts from his bag. “We may as well use your shirt as a rag and dressing,” Clint tells her. “You can put this on after.”

Clint focuses on his task, using his magic to rip perfectly sized strips of fabric from the shirt, ignoring all the revealed skin as he dresses and cleans her wound.

Partly because he is actually curious and partly to distract her from the pain, he asks, “Why didn’t you use your magic, Natasha? Truthfully.”

She is silent for so long he thinks she is ignoring him until she answers in a whisper, “I can't.”

He sees the fear in her face as she tells him this. She swallows convulsively and continues. “Did you know witches can feel when nature is in pain?” She asks, and Clint shakes his head. “Well, we can. And nature hurts when you order instead of ask. But my old coven… they didn’t care. By the time I finally escaped and tried to use magic the right way, nature refused to listen to me. And I refuse to force it again.”

Clint looks at her as he ties a piece of cloth around her abdomen. This brave, beautiful witch who is afraid of her own powers; it is all he can do not to hug her and tell her everything is going to be okay. She would appreciate neither the sentiment nor the touch. So instead, he hands her his shirt and slips his only dagger out of the holster on his pants.

He hears Thor telling them to hurry up, but ignores him for the moment and hands Natasha the dagger. She takes it, confused.

“Keep this on you,” he says. “You need some sort of weapon.”

She hesitates. “Do you have another?”

“I have my arrows,” he says. “And my powers.” He sees her about to protest. “If you cannot use your magic, you need something. You need to be able to protect yourself if…” Clint stops himself from saying, _if I am not here to protect you._ “If you need to,” he finishes.

After a moment, Natasha obligingly slides the dagger away into the holster on her own trousers. She gives him some kind of look he cannot quite discern. But she is smiling, so he assumes it is a good one. 

 

Clint has a high opinion of all of his friends, and Steve is no exception. He’s a good, noble guy. But while Steve is a nice and respectful person most of the time, he can also be one stubborn bastard when he wants to be.

They are on the move today, but they had stopped to take a break for lunch. And Steve had pulled Clint off to the side to ask him his opinion on something. Though Clint does not know _why,_ since he has clearly already made up his mind.

“He was my best friend,” Steve hisses, eyes blazing with the righteous indignation he is so good at. “I have to talk to him one more time if I can!”

Clint remains unmoved. “I specifically asked you all not to try and take advantage of Natasha’s powers.” 

“I’m sure she would not mind if I just _asked_!”

“Asked what?” Natasha says, suddenly coming up behind them. Clint is not surprised by her appearance; Steve hadn’t exactly been keeping his voice down.

“Nothing,” Clint says, sending a glare Steve’s way, which he ignores.

“Can witches talk to the dead?” Steve stubbornly persists.

“Yes,” Natasha says. “But it requires an entire coven.”

“Oh.” Steve deflates, and despite still being kind of pissed at him for asking, Clint feels sorry for him.

“Sorry,” Natasha says stiffly, looking a little uncomfortable.

“It’s alright. I shouldn’t have asked.”

_Damn right,_ Clint thinks, bristling a little. He forces himself to relax, lest Natasha notice his tension. Ever since she had been attacked, he had been feeling extra protective of her, a feeling he knows she would not appreciate if she found out.

“It’s alright,” she says to Steve. “Who did you want to talk to?”

“He was my best friend,” he says, digging a fraying handkerchief out of his shirt pocket and looking at it sadly. “Bucky.”

“May I?” Natasha asks, holding her hand out. Steve looks confused, but hands her the handkerchief anyway. Clint is a little confused too – who would want to touch an old handkerchief? – but Natasha seems to be concentrating on something.

After a moment, she looks up, her brow furrowed in puzzlement. “Are you certain he is dead?” She asks Steve.

He appears taken aback by the question. “I saw him fall from a great height.”  

Natasha looks back at the handkerchief. “No…” she says slowly. “He is not dead.”

“What?” Steve shouts, startling some birds from a tree. He grins, and then frowns, and then grins again, as though he cannot decide what emotion he should be feeling. “He’s alive?”

“Who’s alive?” Thor asks, he and the others coming over to join them.

“Natasha says Bucky is alive!”

Clint can tell Natasha is uncomfortable, being suddenly stared at by all of them. Clint fights down his curiosity at discovering this power of hers and places a comforting hand on her shoulder. She glances at him, then the rest of them, and says, “I can feel him, through his handkerchief. If he were dead, I would not be able to feel him.”

“Can you tell where he is?” Steve asks, practically vibrating with excited energy.

Natasha nods her head in the direction they are heading, a puzzled look on her face. “I would have to have a strong emotional connection to him to really track him. But… I can tell he is north.” She continues to look confused, staring at the handkerchief as though it had asked her a very strange question.

That is all she can tell him, but Steve spends the rest of the day staring at the handkerchief.

That night, after they have set up camp, Clint is sitting in the grass behind the tents, twirling an old arrowhead around in his hands and feeling like the world’s biggest hypocrite. He had scolded Steve for wanting to ask Natasha to use her powers, and now here he is, contemplating doing the same thing.

He is debating whether or not he should approach her when she saves him the trouble and finds him herself, coming to sit next to him. He cannot help a pleased smile; she has been coming to him more and more lately. Often they sit in silence, but sometimes they speak. Moments spent by her side have quickly become the best part of his days.

“They are playing that knucklebones game again,” she says. “I thought you would want to join.”

Clint shrugs. “Not really.”

Natasha seems to hesitate a moment, then says, “Something wrong?”

“No. You?” He asks, and she looks confused. “Something bothered you about that handkerchief.”

“Oh, that.” She looks perturbed again just thinking about it. “It’s just that… witches can sense anyone’s life. But to track someone, even such a weak reading as ‘north,’ I would usually have to know the person. Have an emotional connection.”

“Maybe you were channeling Steve’s emotions? Sometimes my powers are affected by strong emotions from other people.”

“Maybe,” Natasha says, but she doesn’t seem convinced. 

They are silent for a moment, Clint still twirling around the arrowhead. Then Natasha stretches her hand out and looks at him expectantly. Surprised and infinitely grateful that he did not have to ask, he places the arrowhead in her waiting hand.

She looks at it, closes her eyes briefly, and then shakes her head. “Dead.”

He sighs and takes the arrowhead back. “I figured.”

“Whose was it?” She asks.

“My brother’s.”

“Were you close?”

Clint hesitates. Thinks about Barney trying protect him from their father. Thinks about running away together, stealing their supper every night. Thinks about the people Barney got mixed up with, the look of betrayal on his face when Clint joined the Army, tried to get Barney to join too. Thinks about his brother’s vow never to see him again. Thinks about how he kept that promise, apparently until the day he died.

“Yes.”

She nods, then slowly pats his shoulder. She looks so uncomfortable with the gesture that he nearly laughs, but appreciates that she is trying to make him feel better and just grins at her. The little smile she gives him in return is so beautiful for a moment he is speechless.

When he recovers, he clears his throat and says, “You want to go join them?” He can hear the guys cheering over the game on the other side of the tents.

Natasha wrings her hands, something she does when she’s fighting with herself. Clint wonders if she realizes she does it.

“I don’t know,” she says quietly. “I don’t really do the whole friends thing.”

He raises an eyebrow. She has been part of their group for quite a while now. He does not keep track of days out here, but he knows it’s been long enough that he and the rest of the men consider her a friend, regardless of whether she joins their games.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Natasha says. “I appreciate everything you are doing for me. But I am not about to go making friends. I’ve learned my lesson.”

There is so much hurt and bitterness in her voice it makes Clint’s heart ache. “Are you talking about your old village? Because they turned you in?”

She purses her lips. “Yes. But not just them.” He bumps her knee with his, trying to encourage her. She heaves a deep breath and lets it out slowly, then continues. “My old coven… took me when I was a child. There were no friends in the Red Coven.” She snorts in derision at the very thought. “After I escaped, I thought maybe I could find a better coven, a good one. But my reputation preceded me. No one would take a Black Widow, as they called us.”

Clint clenches his fists, angrier now than when those two men had attacked her. He imagines young Natasha, her entire life tinted by a dark path that had been forced upon her, trying to find something better and being rejected at every turn.

“Not that it would have mattered,” Natasha continues. “Like I told you before, nature will not listen to me. I can only do what small magic requires no direct use of nature. No coven would have taken me in even if they hadn’t known of my past. So I settled in a non-magical village. They seemed to accept me. I even considered some of them friends.” She glares off into the distance. “Then, I do not know how, they found out what I am and it was all over.”

“I’m sorry,” Clint says, because that’s all he really can say. It’s not all he _wants_ to say. He wants to tell her that he and the rest of the guys would never do that to her. He wants take her in his arms and tell her how amazed he is by her strength, by all that she’s endured. Wants to kiss her and promise her that he will never turn on her, will never leave her, will protect her with every last breath in his body.

But he doesn’t. Because she is only letting them protect her until she can survive on her own. She has made it abundantly clear that she is only with them for as long as she needs to be. No matter how she smiles at him and confides in him, she shows no signs of wanting anything more.

So instead, he just sits with her for a while, letting himself enjoy a quiet moment with her before he gets up, turns to her, sees her skin glowing in the moonlight and her hair falling in cascading curls down her shoulders, and lets his heart ache a little at what he cannot have, what he should not allow himself to want. Then he says, “You know… we already know what you are.”

She blinks, then smiles hesitantly. “Yeah. I guess you do.”

She still doesn’t join the game that night. But she does sit close and watch them. He’s counting that as a win.

* * *

 

Natasha is having a dilemma.

Clint and Steve are practicing sword fighting. Clint and Steve are practicing sword-fighting shirtless, with the legs of their trousers rolled up to their knees. And Natasha is torn between going closer to watch and staying as far away as physically possible. What she _really_ wants to do is run over to Clint and jump on him, hook her legs around his waist and -

She shakes her head and tries to focus on the fighting, on the clash of swords instead of the flex of muscles in Clint’s back. She wonders where he learned sword fighting, if Steve or Thor had taught him, because Clint was of a lower class and had always been an archer.

Whoever taught him, they taught him well. Steve is clearly more skilled, but Clint is holding his own. The sheer strength in his arms has to be helping. It is… impressive.

Before she realizes she’s made a decision, Natasha is getting up from her solitary corner and going over to watch with the others. She enjoys the closer view.

“Nice of you to join us,” Tony comments without looking at her. “Come to see Steve get his ass kicked?”

Thor snorts next to him. “When Steve has been victorious every time thus far?”

“What can I say?” Tony shrugs. “I root for the underdog.”

“You just want to see Steve lose,” Bruce says.

Tony ignores him and says, “Get him, Clint! He’s exposing his left side!”

“I _know_ that you – dammit!” Clint yells, which distracts him enough that Steve is able to get his sword an inch away from his neck. Clint raises his hands in surrender and glares at Tony, while Steve grins in triumph. Thor cheers, Bruce claps mildly. Tony does not look contrite at all, is actually laughing.

“Yeah, keep laughing,” Clint mutters, but he is smiling and gives Steve a little salute.

“That was a good one,” Steve says, wiping his brow. “For a minute there I thought you were actually going to win. Thanks, Tony.” He smirks, and Tony sticks his tongue out at him. 

Bruce mutters something that sounds suspiciously like “Man crush.” 

“Hey,” Natasha says, and all their heads swivel around to face her. But she’s talking only to Clint. “Can you teach me?”

His eyes widen but he nods quickly. Steve twirls his sword around to offer it to her hilt first. She takes it and steps into the makeshift ring they’ve made – a circle drawn into the dirt.

“This is gonna be good,” she hears Tony mutter. Steve and Bruce simultaneously elbow him in the side, but she notices they all stay to watch.

“You ever done this before?” Clint asks. She shakes her head, shifting the sword around in her hands. “Hold it like this.” He steps up close to her to demonstrate with his own sword and she copies him.

He is so close she can see a bead of sweat making its way down his neck. His skin is positively glistening, muscles flexed as he shows her how to block and strike. His short hair, which normally sticks straight up, is weighed down and some of it is falling forward into his eyes. He brings his arm up to quickly brush it away.

“Natasha?” Clint asks. “Are you listening?”

“Yes,” she answers shortly, though she hadn’t been. She forces her eyes away from his hair. “Sorry. What was that?”

She hears Tony snigger from the sidelines and glances over to see him whisper something to Bruce. They both smile at her entirely too knowingly, as if they know exactly what had been distracting her. She tries her best not to blush. 

Clint looks at her curiously, but explains again about how she should start off holding the sword with both hands.

“You ready to try it for real?” He asks, something challenging in his voice.

“You ready to get your ass kicked?” She taunts. Tony cheers.

“I thought you were on my side!” Clint says to him, but he grins at Natasha and gives her a little bow before getting into the fighting stance.

“Not anymore,” Tony says. Natasha imitates Clint’s posture, and they begin. 

Clint strikes right away, but she brings her sword up to block him effectively.

“Good one!” He says. She ignores the praise and uses her sword to push his up and away, immediately bringing it slashing down in a strike that Clint barely blocks in time.

The guys hoot and cheer from the sidelines and Clint narrows his eyes at her. “You liar! You have done this before.”

Natasha shrugs demurely. “Maybe a little bit.”

Clint grins. “Good. Then I don’t have to go easy on you.”

“Don’t you dare.”

It is a good fight. They seem to anticipate each other’s moves, swords swinging in a way that would look wild from the outside but is actually tightly controlled. Clint is stronger than her, but she is faster and they are both agile.

“Where did you learn to sword fight?” Clint pants over the clash of metal.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” She is equally out of breath. They have been going for a few minutes now, and it is easy to tune out the yells from their audience because all of her focus is on Clint. 

It’s strange, the effect Clint’s proximity is having on her. She wants to attribute her staring to needing to watch him while they fight, except that she does not really need to watch the flex of his biceps or how his hand looks as he tightly grips the hilt of the sword. She might blame her pounding heart on the exertion, but it is beating against her ribcage far too quickly to be from a few minutes’ practice fight.

She would like to call this feeling lust, because she has felt lust before. She can handle lust. But if it is mere physical attraction, then why is it his smile that is making her knees weak, and his hoarse voice that is making her heart skip, and the twinkle in his eye that is making her face heat up and –

It happens in a second. As her mind is reeling with her internal wonderings, she thrusts the sword towards Clint and a blast of energy suddenly careens out of it and hits him straight in the chest, sending him flying back several feet with the force of it.

“Clint!” She tries to yell. But when her mouth opens, nothing comes out and she watches, terrified for several seconds that she has hurt him, before Clint sits up and laughs. She hears the others laugh too, once they realize he is okay.

“Nice one, Natasha!” Tony cackles. The others agree and Thor walks over to help Clint up.

Natasha can’t move. The others think it was a joke, that she had done it on purpose. She forces a smile, going along with it. But Clint gives her a concerned look, and hands the sword to Thor before coming over to her.

“That was great,” he says loudly. Then quieter, so only she can hear, “You okay?”

_He knows_ , she thinks, looking into his eyes, which are so much more solemn than the grin on his face. He knows that it was an accident. Of course he knows magic is tied to emotions. Her emotions must have been really out of whack to cause her to accidentally channel her powers through the sword. 

“Fine,” she whispers, now even more overwhelmed, not only because she had not used her magic like that in years – and she can _never_ remember using it on accident – but because she is so much less concerned about that than _what if she had hurt him?_ The raw terror she had felt when she hit him was still coursing through her veins, and she wishes she knew what this meant. 

She shoves the sword into his hands and refuses to meet his eyes for the rest of the day.

 

Natasha has the first watch that night and she does not mind at all. She is still reeling from her magical outburst earlier, and it is calm and peaceful in the woods at night. They rarely run into much danger, so though she keeps a vigilant watch, she also allows herself to absorb the sounds of the small animals in the trees and the bushes that they share sleep space with.

She is watching an owl in a nearby tree when she hears the flap of the far tent open. Clint comes out, coming over to sit next to her. Natasha casts him a look, keeping her face expressionless.

“Can’t sleep,” he says quietly, though they are a sufficient distance from the tents and it is unlikely any of the others could hear him.

Natasha wonders if he is telling the truth or if he has come out to check on her, to ask her what happened now that they have privacy. If he does, she has no idea what she will tell him. All she knows is that she feels more for him than she should, but she has trouble pinpointing the exact emotions

She knows she is attracted to him, and she knows she likes his company. She likes talking to him and sitting with him and looking at him. She knows she liked it when he gave her his dagger, which she still keeps at her side. That act had left - and still leaves - a warm feeling in her chest, because although she can take care of herself, no one has ever really cared about her safety before. It is a nice feeling, she thinks, to be cared about.

She also likes how he does not push her. Other people might have asked her what was wrong with her for losing control of her magic, but Clint just sits next to her in silence for many long minutes, comforting her with his mere presence.

He does, after some time, say, “I love looking at the stars.” His head is tilted up and she follows his line of sight to the sky they can see through the large gap of trees in the clearing. “I always envied witches. You have such a connection to nature.”

Natasha snorts. “Most of us, I suppose. I have done far too much damage to have any sort of connection to it now.”

“I do not think that is true, Natasha,” Clint says thoughtfully.

“I can’t feel a thing,” she says, casting her hands out at the forest that surrounds them, the forest that she feels no more connected to than she does to her old coven.

“You will not let yourself feel,” he says, more than a small edge of frustration in his voice and she turns to face him in surprise. He takes a deep breath, and his voice is calm and compassionate when he says, “It does not matter what you used to be, what your old coven _made_ you be. You got out. You changed. I believe nature can sense that.”

“Clint,” she says, surprised to hear her voice crack. “I do not… I cannot… I will not _use_ nature like that again! It does not trust me, I could feel that even before I left my coven but I stayed for years before I finally left. I do not blame it for not trusting me. _I_ would not trust me.”

“Well, I would,” Clint says solemnly. “I know you can use nature without _using_ it. You are a much more caring person than you give yourself credit for, Natasha.”

She swallows hard past the sudden, strange lump in her throat. She tries to say something but the way Clint is looking at her right now has robbed her of the power to speak. His eyes are so soft and kind.

“Clint?” She questions, barely even a whisper. When has he gotten so close to her? Does he lean in or does she? She does not know, but she is going to kiss him, there is no stopping it now that she is inches from him.

Except that Thor chooses this moment to come out of the tent and she springs apart from Clint as though she too has been blasted with a beam of magic.

“Oh!” Thor says when he sees how close they had been sitting. “Um… I am sorry to interrupt, but I woke up and… it must be well past time for me to take over.”

Natasha spares a quick glance up at the stars and realizes that she and Clint have been out here far longer than she thought. Clint is standing up and assuring Thor that he had not interrupted anything, although Natasha sees that the back of his neck has turned red.

Clint and Natasha exchange one last fleeting glance before retiring for the night.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to CloudAtlas and ClintandNatasha for your comments on the last chapter! 
> 
> This is the chapter that earns the rating.

Natasha has been giving him strange looks lately. Ever since their near… _something_ on guard (Clint will not call it a near-kiss, because there is no way Natasha would ever let him kiss her, right?), she has been seeking out his company more, starting conversations more easily, and looking at him in this way that is almost evaluating.

He cannot quite parse what she means by it. If she were any other woman, he would say it is because she perhaps, if he is very lucky, returns his feelings. But she is talking more to the other guys as well, is joining them more often around campfires and for games. So it is more likely that she is just becoming friendlier with all of them, probably more open now because she knows she will not have to see them again very soon.

Clint’s hands tingle and he realizes they are glowing red as he fletches his arrow, accidentally singeing the edges. He shakes his hands angrily to dispel the magic and glances up to make sure Natasha had not noticed. But she is in the center of camp, cutting up fruit with Thor while Tony sits by them, probably chatting their ears off about some new metal contraption he is working on while Steve and Bruce butcher a deer.

Tony catches his eye when he looks over and gets up. 

“Hey, buddy” Tony says with a smirk when he comes over. “If you want, I could commission a painter for you so you don’t have to keep staring at her. Not everyone finds that kind of attention flattering.”

“I was not staring at her,” Clint grumbles, face heating. 

“Sure,” Tony says easily, taking a seat next to him. “She stares at you too, you know.”

“There is no staring of any kind,” Clint tells him stubbornly.

Tony sighs and puts his hand over the arrow Clint is working on. Clint glares at him. There are not a lot of people who can get away with touching his arrows. 

“Look,” Tony says, teasing mostly gone from his voice. “She likes you. You are _literally_ the only one who does not seem to know that. And I am fairly certain that even that deer can tell that _you_ like _her,_ and it has been dead these two hours.”

“You are assuming things. And even if you are right, it cannot happen,” Clint says flatly.

“Why the hell not?”

“It just can’t!” Clint insists, standing up and repressing the urge to stomp his foot childishly. He runs his hand through his hair, then picks up his bow and what arrows he has managed to make. “I am going hunting.”

He hears Tony mutter, “Idiot,” behind his back.

He tracks several deer, but he does not shoot any because they really do not need the meat. He just wanted a distraction and to get away from Tony’s prying. His thoughts are fixated on Natasha, and no amount of dead deer is going to change that.

He doesn’t know how long it has been, but he still does not desire company, so he goes to the nearby pond to bathe in peace. There is just one problem with that.

Natasha is already there.

Clint nearly chokes on air. She is mostly submerged, but her head and bare shoulders remain above water and the water is pretty clear. He makes an embarrassing squeaky sound and Natasha arches an eyebrow at him. He is about to apologize and leave, but then she smirks and winks and tilts her head in invitation. He squeaks again, louder this time.

He is confused, but since he is not actually an idiot, he quickly strips and jumps into the water, for once grateful that it is so cold.

He keeps his distance in case he misunderstood her. Natasha dips her head back to wet her hair, thrusting her chest out as she does so and no amount of cold is going to help him now.

“Tony said you were hunting,” she says casually, as if they are not both naked. 

“I was,” he says, voice mostly steady. Then he ducks his head under water, keeping his eyes firmly closed, to rinse his sweaty hair. If she is going to act normal, then so will he.

_This is totally normal,_ he tells himself as he rises. They’re not doing anything unusual; just two friends, swimming naked in a pond, being completely normal. He doesn’t even want to kiss her, or run his fingers through her wet hair, or feel the weight of her breasts in his hands.  He is totally fine and normal.

And then she swims towards him. 

She stops very close. He cannot help but glance down and the water is clear enough that he can see almost everything. He quickly snaps his eyes back up only to find that hers have wandered down too. The smile she now gives him is wicked and it is making him forget how to breathe.

“Did you know I was here?” She asks.

“No!” Clint practically shouts. “I swear.”

Natasha hums thoughtfully, coming even closer. “I thought you had finally decided to make a move.”

“I…” He pauses. “You want me to…?”

“I _am_ a lady,” Natasha grins, looping her arms around his neck and clearly enjoying the effect she is having on him. He has rarely seen her look so openly pleased. Once his brain can form thoughts other than _naked naked naked naked,_ he is sure he will be pretty pleased as well. “It is traditional for the man to make the first move, is it not?”

Clint is pretty sure nothing about their situation is traditional. He is also pretty sure that this counts as Natasha making the first move, but he is not about to argue semantics with a beautiful, naked woman who is pressing her beautiful, naked body up against him.

“Whatever the lady wants,” is all he says (and feels pretty damn impressed with how smooth he sounds) before he cups the back of her head in his hand and brings his mouth crashing down on hers.

It is not as slow or sweet as he imagined their first kiss to be (and yes, he had been imagining it with increasing frequency ever since he met her), but it is so very Natasha that he wonders how he could have ever pictured anything else. She sucks and bites, forces his mouth open with her tongue, rougher than any first kiss he’s ever had. It is perfect.

Her skin is cold and smooth and he wants to touch every inch of it. She seems to feel the same way about him, her hands racing over his chest and down to his ass and – _oh god -_ he gasps when she brings one hand around to firmly grasp him.

“Nat – Natasha,” he pants into her neck. “Wait.” With some effort, he pulls her hand away from him and leans back enough to look at her face. “You are not doing this because you think you owe me, are you?”

“No,” she says. “I want you.” Her eyes are dark, lips swollen and red. One of her hands is on the back of his neck, scratching lightly.

“Thank god,” he says hoarsely and pulls her to him again, kissing her. He realizes a long-held fantasy and cups her breasts in his hands, thumbs teasing over her hard nipples until she makes a soft sound of pleasure against his lips and rubs her pelvis insistently against his.

He groans loudly. “We should not do this in the water,” he says breathlessly. 

“I know,” she says, but makes no move to stop her insistent sucking on his collar bone and he is having a really hard time remembering why he needs her to.

_Right. Pond water. Bad idea._

They eventually make it onto the shore. He is so far beyond aroused and he wants to be inside her _so bad._ But he brings his hand down to check her and she groans in frustration.

“Damn water,” she pants. The pond water had washed away her own wetness.

“Not to worry, dear,” he says with a smirk, and begins kissing a path down her body. In a way, he thinks, it is a blessing in disguise because now he has to slow down. He is going to make this _good_ for her, dammit, even if it makes him explode.

“You – are you – oh!” He gets his mouth on her, effectively answering her mostly unasked question. Her hands fly to his hair and she arches up and Clint is in _heaven,_ because he has imagined this too and it is just as perfect as the kiss. She whimpers when he teases her and moans when he thrusts two fingers inside her and cries out his name when she comes, hands digging into his hair and thighs clamping around his head and feet racing up and down his back as she loses control.

She is plenty ready for him now. He crawls back up her body, planting kisses as he goes, and watches her face as she comes down.

Her eyes are a little glassy when she opens them, and she gives him a saucy smile. “Not bad.”

He will take that as high praise from her. “Are you ready?” He asks, doing his best to make his voice sound level and not like he is harder than he has probably ever been in his life.

“Oh yeah,” she breathes, wrapping her legs around his waist. He fists his hands in the grass by her head and slowly pushes into her.

It is the most incredible feeling in the world and neither of them last long. He’s not sure whether it is because she is just that responsive or he is just that good, but she is coming again within minutes. The feel of her contracting around him, her face relaxed in a beautiful expression of pleasure, is too much for him and he is right there with her. He is amazed he has the presence of mind to pull out in time but he does, coming on her stomach and breasts. Thank goodness – he is sure she would never forgive him if he got her pregnant. 

“Oh,” she says, looking down at the evidence he left on her skin. He worries for a moment that she will be angry, that he should have come on the grass instead. But she just says, “Thanks. I forgot about that.”

“Anytime,” he says sincerely, and she smiles. 

They go back to camp, both of their hair still damp and not quite able to keep the smiles off their faces. The guys smirk, none more than Tony, but Clint just grins wider.

 

“I am unsure if this is a good idea.”

“It has been months, Clint,” Natasha says, sighing in exasperation. “And we have traveled very far. I think it is past time I tried to venture out of the woods.”

Clint looks around at the others but finds no allies. Either they all side with Natasha or none of them want to openly disagree with her.

“Even if anyone were to recognize her,” Bruce begins. “You are both more than capable of defending yourselves.”

“Besides,” Steve says. “As a last resort, you always have your powers.”

“Let us hope it does not come to the last resort,” Thor says, earnestly clapping Clint and Natasha on the back.

“Oh, they will be fine,” Tony says with a dismissive wave of his hand. “This is a milk run. Literally.” But Clint does not miss the worried glance he casts towards Natasha’s distinctive red hair.

“Are you ready?” Natasha asks impatiently. Clint nods and throws the small rucksack over his shoulder.

“We shall be back with food from the market,” he says by way of goodbye, and he and Natasha begin their trek through the woods, into the nearest village. They have to go slow because Natasha, due to the need to look like a normal peasant, is wearing her dress. Clint cannot help but miss her in trousers; they are much more form-fitting.

“Did you not get a good enough look the other day?” Natasha asks saucily, and Clint thinks for a moment that he has spoken out loud before he realizes that he has been openly staring at her behind as she walks in front of him, hidden though it is under her simple dress.

“Sorry,” Clint says shortly, moving so that they are walking side by side.

“No need to apologize.” She gives him one of her examining looks. She had probably expected a tease back, but Clint is not in much of a teasing mood.

They make it to the village and Clint does his best to act natural, Natasha hanging on his arm like they are a married couple at the market. Thor and Steve had scouted it earlier to make sure it was large enough they could blend in, and blend they do. Natasha is a natural, acting demure and peasant-like and making idle talk with the occasional lady they happen to be standing next to. He is impressed, and thinks how often they could do this if she were to stay with them.

“It will be so refreshing to have vegetables,” Natasha says, placing the carrots they had just purchased into the knapsack.

Clint makes a noise in agreement, leading her further down the street. They need to get away from the crowd and the vendors before going back into the forest, but they still have quite a bit of market left to get through. He feigns interest in some potatoes before quickly moving on.

“Are you alright?” Natasha asks as they stroll down the dirt path, giving a small smile to a vendor who waves at them. “You have hardly said a word all day.”

“Fine,” Clint practically grunts.

“Is it because of what happened in the pond?” She persists, a hard edge in her voice that was not there before. “It was a mistake, I get it. I’m not going to try to marry you or something.”

“What?” Clint hisses, so shocked he stops in the path, forcing Natasha to stop along with him. She meets his eyes with a defiant set to her jaw. “You think… you think what we did was a mistake?”

“Well, do you not?” She spits. “You have been acting like I don’t even exist ever since, unless it is to tell me why we should not go out to the market together. As if the idea of spending this much time with me is so repulsive to you –“

“No,” Clint says, realizing that they are drawing attention and forcing a smile, starting to walk again. “Natasha, no, I – damn. I just do not want… you are _leaving_ soon. This exercise has proved that it is safe for you and I do not want to start something that is going to end in a matter of days.”

“What?” It is her turn to be shocked. “Clint, I thought – I am not – _oh, shit.”_

Her drastic shift in tone alerts him that something is wrong, and he follows her line of sight to a man at the corn stall a few paces ahead of them. He is older than they are and well dressed, probably a noble.

“What is it?” Clint asks, even as Natasha ducks her head under his shoulder and steers them towards a different stall so that their backs are to the man. “ _Who_ is it?”

“Ivan,” she says so quietly he almost does not hear her. “The leader of my old coven. He is the one who kidnapped me as a child.”

Clint’s hands clench, and the desire to blast him with some nasty magic or challenge him to a duel is strong. Natasha must be able to sense this because she says, “Suppress your magic! He might sense it!”

He does his best to tamp down his powers.

“Is he still there?” Natasha asks after a tense moment.

Clint risks a glance behind them. “Yes. But he is facing the other way.”

They walk away as quickly as they can without looking suspicious, not stopping at any more vendors. They are silent until they reach the edge of the market.

“Did he follow us?” 

Clint looks and sees no one behind them but a few stray peasants. “No.”

Natasha’s body relaxes a little, but she is still incredibly tense. “Let’s go, quickly.” They are finally clear of people and it is safe enough to head back towards the forest. Natasha sets a quick pace and he has to almost run to keep up with her, despite her dress.

“Natasha, slow down.”

“I will never be safe,” she says, ignoring him. His heart breaks at the catch in her voice. “We must have passed 20 villages and still I see someone who could destroy me.”

“So we’ll go farther!” Clint says, although a moment ago the last thing he wanted was for her to leave. But he knows right then, looking at her anguished face, that he would do absolutely anything to make her happy. 

She is shaking her head. “It will not work, Clint. My past is determined to haunt me wherever I go.” 

He says nothing the rest of the journey, unsure what he could possibly say to make her feel better at this moment. He figures with a little time he will be able to persuade her to leave the woods again.

Natasha arranges her face into a neutral expression when they reach camp and Clint tosses the knapsack to Bruce, since he is on cooking duty tonight.

“I hope you like beans,” Clint says. “Natasha went a little overboard.”

The others laugh as Bruce pulls out a huge bag of beans and Natasha lightly punches Clint in the shoulder with a small smile.

He is just thinking that maybe it will not be so hard to cheer her up after all when there is a loud _crack_ of magic and his hands are suddenly bound behind his back. In the next second, tree roots shoot out of the ground and wrap around his legs, pulling him to kneel at the ground with the force of it.

“What is this?” Thor yells angrily. All of them are in the same situation, hands and legs bound, the six of them forming a misshapen circle. They all look varying degrees of angry and confused – except Natasha. Natasha looks _terrified._ She is spinning her head around, trying to spot their enemy when he emerges from the trees with an evil smirk. Clint feels a rush of fear as well. Ivan must be very powerful; being able to bind them all at once took a lot of magic.

“My, my,” Ivan says, oily-voiced. His smile is cruel and slimy. Something about it is disturbingly familiar to Clint. “Isn’t this cozy?”

“Who the hell are you?” Steve commands, struggling, as all of them are, against his binds.

“Natalia,” Ivan says, smile widening and coming to stand right in front of Natasha, who is glaring up at him. Clint struggles even harder against the vines tying his hands, but they will not budge. “Have you not told your friends about me? After everything I did for you?”

She says nothing and Ivan puts his hand under her chin, getting entirely too close to her.

“Get away from her!” Clint yells even though he is no position to be challenging him. Ivan smirks at him and with a flick of his hand, Clint can feel the vines around his wrists tightening and twisting so hard they have to be drawing blood. He bites his lip, refusing to cry out.

“Leave him alone!” Natasha finally speaks, her voice echoed by shouts from the rest of them.

“I am warning you,” Tony snarls. “When we get out of this –“

Ivan laughs. “I am not afraid of you. But you are not who I want anyway.” He turns back to Natasha. “I just want Natalia’s powers. You were always such a powerful witch. I have been looking for you ever since you escaped that hanging.” Here he glances Clint’s way again. “With the help of an archer, if I recall.”

“How did you find me?” Natasha asks through gritted teeth.

Ivan pulls out a small length of rope. “Left this behind after the archer freed you.” He bends his head close to Natasha’s with a fake sad look that makes Clint want to punch him. “We must not have the emotional connection we used to, Natalia. All it could tell me was that you were in the north. But it was enough.”

“I never had an emotional connection to you,” Natasha spits.

Ivan just smirks. “Yet I found you anyway.”

“You were the man at the hanging,” Clint says slowly, remembering, and Ivan laughs.

“I’m impressed, archer,” he says. “That was a powerful glamour charm. Not even Natalia recognized me.”

_Just keep him talking,_ Clint thinks, trying to work the vines. They are extremely tight, clearly held on with strong magic, but maybe if he can buy enough time.

“You’re the one that turned her in,” he says, glaring. “How many other innocent witches have you had hanged?”

“Innocent?” Ivan laughs, incredulous. “She’s never told you what her coven does, has she?”

_Old coven,_ Clint thinks, but says nothing because this will keep him talking a little longer.

“We’re _spies,_ archer,” Ivan says. “For your enemy kingdom, Caput. You should hear some of the things she used to do, with and without her magic. Spying. Seduction. _Murder._ ”

“Things you _made_ her do,” Clint snaps.

“Is that what she’s told you?” Ivan smirks. “Natalia was our _best._ You don’t become the best against your will.”

Natasha is looking discouraged, depressed. Clint tries to catch her eye, tries to reassure her wordlessly that his feelings for her haven't changed, no matter what Ivan tries to convince him. But she will not look at him.

“That is why I’ve been looking for her,” Ivan continues. “If I cannot have her as a spy, I will have her powers.”

Clint has got to get her out of this. This is Natasha’s worst nightmare, her past literally come back to destroy her. It is his worst nightmare too, because he _can’t protect her._

“Then take me already,” Natasha says, and Clint hates the resignation in her voice. “Let the others go. You don’t have to bind them all, I am the only witch here!”

“Do not think you can trick me, Natalia,” Ivan hisses, his sickening smile suddenly gone. “I can sense more magic here.”

And that is when it comes to him.

“It’s me!” Clint yells. “I am an elf. Wouldn’t you rather have my powers than hers?”

“An elf?” Ivan’s smile is back, and he comes to Clint, leaning close to inspect his ears. He resists the urge to recoil. “Yes, I can see the scars. Well!” He laughs. “Why would I not just take them _both_?”

“Because an elf’s magic has to be given willingly,” Clint says, and he can see that Ivan knows this is true. “And I will give it to you if you leave Natasha alone.”

“Isn’t that _sweet?”_ Ivan cackles.

“No!” Natasha yells. “Clint, don’t do this!” She begs, eyes and voice beseeching. Clint never thought there would come a time he could deny her anything, but here it is.

“Alright, then.” Ivan grins. “Came for a witch, got an elf. Not a bad trade.”

He places his hand on Clint’s shoulder and he shudders, can feel the magic pulsing into him through Ivan and knows he is going to transport them. But Clint never looks away from Natasha. 

“Clint, no!” She sobs. “I am not worth it!”

“Yes,” Clint says solemnly, absorbing every detail of her face, unsure if he will ever see her again. “You are.”

Then there is one final pulse of magic and in a swirl of leaves and wind, they are gone. 

* * *

 

She screams. Yells. Reaches inside herself for all the strength she has left to try and get her powers to work, but neither her magic nor the vines will cooperate.

“Natasha!” She dimly hears Steve’s voice over her screams. “Stop it! You’re hurting yourself!”

It is true. Her wrists are scraped bloody and raw from twisting against the vines, as are her legs from the tree roots.

“What is the point of being a witch if I cannot save him?” She growls. The others are struggling too, but not even Thor’s brute strength can snap the vines.

“We _will_ save him,” Steve assures her.

“I can figure something out,” Tony says, staring down at the tree roots as if he can invent something to get them out of this, even without his limbs.

“This is all my fault,” Natasha laments.

“No, it is not,” Bruce says calmly. “And blaming yourself will not help.”

Natasha quiets, hangs her head and stops struggling. She just had to go out into the village, didn’t she? She has been perfectly happy here in the woods, with Clint and the others. She just wanted to see if she could, if it would be possible for her to join them on missions in the future and go out occasionally without worrying about being hanged or re-captured. And now, Clint is in trouble. Sweet, wonderful, brave Clint is going to lose his powers and possibly his life – Ivan is nothing if not cruel - because of her. 

Then her mind flashes to a conversation about depending on magic, and an arrow slicing through her ropes in the nick of time.  

“Thor!” Natasha says suddenly. “Steve! Can one of you get to your sword?”

Thor can, just barely. It is laying on the ground beside him and, with some struggle, he manages to get it grasped in his bound hands, holding it out behind his back.

“Can you just get it to reach me?” She asks. He is kneeling next to her and facing slightly away, so he manages to tilt his hands enough to get the point of the sword centimeters away from her wrists.

“This is the closest I can do,” he says. By his grimace, the angle must be causing him considerable discomfort.

Natasha is able to bend her arms back, and very, _very_ slowly, cutting herself several times, manages to slice the vines that holds her wrists together.

“Yes!” She exclaims, the others cheering with her and Thor gratefully dropping the sword. She shakes feeling back into her hands.

“Now you can use your magic?” Bruce asks, and Natasha hesitates. Getting the tree roots to release them is going to require her powers, and she is unsure if she can use them intentionally anymore. But this is for Clint. She _has_ to.

She holds her arms out towards the roots at her feet and tries to coax them away. They do not budge. Frustrated, she shakes her hands and then tries again. Still nothing.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asks. “Did that guy do something to your powers?”

She shakes her head and then drops it into her hands, trying not to cry out of frustration. This is the price she pays for misusing nature all those years. She deserves this. But Clint doesn’t.

“I can do it,” she says through gritted teeth, holding out her hands again.

“Your powers are tied to your emotions, right?” Tony asks. “You’re just frustrated, it’s probably blocking your powers.” At the surprised looks from the rest of them, he adds, “What? I know things.”

Natasha does her best to calm down, pushing away the thoughts of Ivan, and of Clint, and of what might be happening to him right now. She focuses on the trees, on what she wants them to do, and tries again. For a few seconds, nothing happens and she is afraid she has failed but then, miraculously, the roots uncoil from her legs and sink back into the ground.

“It worked,” she says, almost giddy.

Natasha releases the rest of them one at a time, getting more confident each time as the roots do not hesitate to do what she asks.

“Now what?” Bruce asks, and Natasha realizes they are all looking to her for direction. “How do we find him?”

“I can track him,” she says, pulling out the dagger Clint had given her. It is not hard to focus on him, the mental image of his face coming easily to her. She thinks particularly of the devotion and wild courage on his face when he offered himself to Ivan in her place.

“This way.” She points east through the trees. “Less than an hour away. By the river.”

“Very specific,” Thor comments, the ghost of a smirk on his face.

“Must be quite an emotional connection,” Tony says. But they are both gearing up with the rest of them, gathering armor and weapons.

Natasha keeps the dagger in her hands while they pack, wanting to feel Clint’s life for as long as she can. At least she knows he is still alive, whatever else Ivan may be doing to him. Her biggest worry is how much time has passed. Ivan had expended a lot of magic in binding them all and even more in his disappearing act. He should need some time to recover before doing any spell as strong as one to remove powers.

She clings to that thought as she clings to the dagger - as if it is her only hope.

“Ready?” She asks once the team has packed. “Let’s go.”

 

She knows they have found him when she senses powerful magic, and she tells the team to quiet down as they approach.

They reach a clearing next to the river, and Natasha peeks her head around a tree to see what is going on, hoping that Ivan will be too focused to sense her.

He has Clint tied up, suspended in the air by vines and branches and roots, and Natasha can actually sense the trees’ pain. Despite the horrifying situation in front of her, she feels hopeful; it has been a long time since she has felt this connected to nature, and it makes her feel powerful, like they really have a shot of beating Ivan.

Then she notices two things. The first is that Ivan, standing in front of Clint with his back to Natasha, has his hands held up and directed towards Clint, who is writhing in his binds. She can sense the magic flowing between them and her stomach sinks and she thinks _oh god, it is too late. I have already failed._

The second is that there is a third person there, another man, another _witch,_ standing next to Ivan with a blank expression on his face and Natasha _knows_ him. It’s James. Toward the end of her time in the Red Coven, Ivan had brought him in under the influence of some kind of spell. James looked like a zombie more often than not, blindly obeying Ivan’s orders. Much like now, it appears.

This is particularly alarming because Steve, when he looks over her shoulder and sees him, freezes and whispers, “Bucky?”

He starts to move forward, but Natasha stops him and hisses, “Stick to the plan.”

Steve hesitates briefly, then nods. He and the rest of the guys go one way, she goes the other, trying to get as close to Clint as she can without Ivan seeing her.

She reaches her position before the guys and standing still is absolute agony. She has to force herself not to run out; the urge to get to Clint as fast as possible is almost overwhelming. But she reminds herself, as she reminded Steve, to stick to the plan.

It is difficult to wait. She can sense Clint’s pain. Or maybe it is her own pain at seeing him like this. 

Then she sees movement on the other side of the clearing and the guys run out, yelling loudly and distracting Ivan so that he releases his hold on Clint. He and James – Bucky, apparently – begin fighting the others and Natasha rushes forward, stopping a few steps away and concentrating, letting her magic release the trees’ hold on Clint.

She can feel the trees’ relief as they obey, and Clint drops to the ground, immobile.

She wants to run to him, but Ivan has already overpowered Tony and Thor, and is currently wrapping vines around Bruce’s arms. His powers are far too strong for humans, even one who is part ogre, to hold him off for long. And Steve is too busy getting his ass kicked by Bucky to help.

Ivan turns to her, but she is ready for him this time. She raises her hands and throws up a shield, the wind bending willingly to protect her from his attempt to bind her again.

She wastes no time celebrating, quickly coaxing a large branch off the ground and sending it hurtling towards Ivan, who waves it aside easily.

He smirks. “Did you _ask_ it first, Natalia? Did you forget everything I taught you?” Then he lifts his hands, ripping dozens of branches from nearby trees to attack her. She throws up another shield but it is not quite strong enough, one of the branches breaking through and still managing to graze the side of her head.

She stumbles, but rights herself and mutters a spell, bending the wind towards him powerfully, but Ivan easily blocks this, too. 

“You’ll never defeat me by being polite!” He cackles. “There is a reason I taught you to command nature. It is so much stronger that way!”

He casts one hand towards a tree and uproots the entire thing, roots and all. There is no way she will be able to block that, and she panics for a moment.

“Stay calm! Focus!” Tony yells from behind Ivan, still bound. Ivan uses his other hand to magically rip a piece of metal from Tony’s suit and adhere it to his mouth.

“That’s right!” Ivan shouts triumphantly. “I already have the elf’s magic!” He waves a hand and a ball of fire appears. Fire is one of the rare things both witches and elves have control over, but Natasha has never seen anyone create a ball of it. It must be some combination of both kinds of magic, and she knows in this moment that someone as horrible as Ivan cannot be allowed to live with this kind of power.

Before Ivan can throw the fire, Natasha calls water from the river to put it out, which thankfully works.

Angered, Ivan finally uses both hands to control the tree he had uprooted and Natasha, staying calm and not letting her fear or the pain she can feel from the tree distract her, lifts her hands and coaxes it down.

Ivan’s magic may be stronger than hers, but since she is asking the tree to do what it naturally wants to, it listens to her and returns to its place in the ground. 

“Being polite has its advantages,” Natasha says. 

Ivan lets out a cry of rage and then has a barrage of debris – rocks, sticks, branches – flying towards her. She raises a shield, but feels it weakening with every object that hits it until finally, a huge rock makes it through and catches her right in the stomach, knocking her to the ground and flattening her beneath its weight.

By the time she rolls it off, Ivan is standing right in front of her. She pushes herself up on one arm but from this close, there is nothing magical she can do that Ivan will not be able to anticipate and block.

“Pinned, are we, Natalia?” Ivan asks in fake sympathy.

She feels Clint’s dagger still pressed against her thigh and, no other idea coming to her, takes it out and points it at Ivan’s chest.

His laugh is derisive and cruel. “Are you going to fight me? You think a knife is going to stop me? I have already got your precious archer’s magic, I am more powerful than ever!”

Natasha says nothing, keeping the knife pointed right at him as he taunts her.

“You know what I am going to do as soon as I overpower you?” Ivan asks casually. “I am going to kill all your little friends, saving that one for last.” He nods his head at Clint’s prone body. “So you can watch that worthless elf die.”

And that is how it happens. She feels the anger boiling in her blood and shooting out through her hands, through the dagger and straight into Ivan’s chest. She sees clearly, as though time has frozen for a moment, the smug look on his face fade into horror when he realizes what just happened. And then he falls back and lays, motionless, on the grass and dirt. 

Natasha sits for a moment, surprised at how calm she feels. She casually wonders if she’s killed him, and pushes herself off the ground to check.

He is alive, barely. She is momentarily surprised that the magic had such an effect, because when she had hit Clint with her magic it barely affected him. But she had hit Clint with confusion and lust, not with the pure anger and hatred she had unleashed on Ivan.

He is blinking up slowly at her, cruelty still evident in the very lines of his face. As much as she wants to show him no mercy and let him die slowly, she just says, “This is what happens when you hurt the people I love,” and rams the dagger straight into his heart. She can feel the life flow out of him, her fear of him and the Red Coven going with it.

She will spare him no more of her time; she has much more important people to think about now.

She quickly releases Tony, Thor, and Bruce, notices dimly that Bucky has stopped punching Steve, and then her mind has no room for anything but Clint.

She runs the few steps over to him, kneeling on the ground at his side. He is still laying there, but his eyes are open and he is breathing and she has never been so relieved in her entire life.

Cradling his head in her lap, she strokes his hair, his cheek, every part of his face, her hands trembling. Clint smiles weakly up at her.

“I knew you would come,” he whispers, voice reverent as though she had saved him but Natasha shakes her head. 

“I was too late,” she chokes out. She is close to tears – tears of relief that he is alive, but also tears of grief, of sadness because she can no longer sense the magic in him. “I am so sorry.”

Clint lifts his hand, though she can see it takes some effort. Losing one’s magic was apparently quite weakening, and Natasha’s heart gives another desperate pang. He strokes her cheek as she had just been doing to him and says, “You were right on time. You _saved_ me.” She opens her mouth to protest again, but he says firmly, “You are worth it, Tasha.”

She allows herself a watery smile, unable to resist because Clint is alive. Banged up and powerless, perhaps, but no less the sweet, wonderful, brave elf she fell in love with. She leans down to press a gentle kiss to his lips.

There is the sound of a throat clearing and Natasha reluctantly lifts her head to see Bruce, Thor, and Tony standing in front of them. Bruce is trying to appear disinterested, to give them their moment, but Thor and Tony do not bother to hide their blatant curiosity.

“Is Clint alright?” Thor asks.

“Yes,” Natasha says. Clint squeezes her hand in one of his own, and the strength of his grip reassures her. “Yes,” she says, stronger. Then she turns her attention to Steve and Bucky, who are standing by the river.

Bucky is staring down at his own hands, looking horrified. Steve cautiously tries to approach him, but Bucky starts backing away. Steve shouts, “Wait!” but Bucky throws up his hands, erecting a shield that knocks Steve back into the dirt and runs, disappearing into the forest.

“Hey, man,” Tony yells to the clearly distraught Steve, who has not gotten up from the ground. “Get over here!”

Moving seems to be the last thing Steve wants to do, but he gets up and comes over anyway, mustering a smile for Clint that drops quickly as he looks back into the trees where Bucky had gone.

“We will find him,” Bruce assures him quietly, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“We found Clint, we can find Bucky,” Thor agrees.

“Yes, we can,” Natasha says, and they turn to look at her.

“We?” Tony asks, a slow smile making its way onto his face. “Does that mean you are staying with us?”

They all look pleased and hopeful, especially Clint. Natasha smiles down at him softly, with as much tenderness as she has probably ever felt, and says, “Well, you guys clearly need me.”

Clint grins. The others come to sit on the ground, forming a semi-circle around Clint and Natasha. Clint may be strong enough to sit up on his own by now, but Natasha is reluctant to release her hold on him and he shows no desire to move.

As they all sit there, forming tentative plans for finding Bucky, Natasha feels something she has never felt before, something she has been searching for her entire life – she feels like she _belongs._ Like these people are her friends, her _family_.

Like she has finally found her coven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's the end! Thanks to everyone who read, left kudos, and commented! :)


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